


Exposed

by phantisma



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-28
Updated: 2007-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil Grissom has a need.  Lady Heather offers to help him out.  Really.  I don't ever use either name...but this is Gil and Heather.  I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposed

She was waiting for an answer…the problem was, he wasn’t sure he had one, at least not one he could admit to. Maybe that, in itself, _was_ the answer.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, softly.

“If you don’t know, I can’t help you,” she replied, leaning against the desk. Her eyes bored into him, unflinching, unmoving…they looked into him, past the cracked exterior, beyond the walls and it was unnerving.

There was nothing here to make him feel so exposed, both of them fully clothed, sitting in an average office. And yet that’s what he was. Sitting there in front of her like this, he was all jagged edges and broken windows…exposed.

Her question was simple, and it shouldn’t reduce him to this. “Professional curiosity?” he offered and she smiled.

“I don’t think so.” Her hands settled onto her hips, accentuated by the corset fitted tight against her body. “I answered your questions when you were here with your team.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Personal curiosity?” he offered a little more tentatively and her hands slid off her hips.

Her eyebrow raised to match his and her lips quirked upward. “That’s a little closer to the truth.” She stood up, stepping a little closer, her eyes still on his. “The question is, how curious are you?”

He reined in the wild thumping of his heart. Her closeness was intoxicating, her presence powerful. He tightened the grip of his hands on the arms of the chair, and forced his voice to remain calm. “Very.”

She seemed pleased, even though she stepped away, hitching her hip so that she could sit on the desk and cross her legs, letting the long, soft skirt slide to expose a long leg encased in supple leather boots. His eyes caught, fixated on the curve of her calf. For a long moment she let him look, then there was a touch, cool, yet unyielding on his chin.

He looked and found a riding crop, it’s end under his jaw, directing him back to her face. “Then this is where we begin.”

His mouth was suddenly dry, his wit gone. Her voice was gentle, despite the crop, despite the words, despite everything. He shifted and the crop pressed harder into his skin.

“Look at me.” He hadn’t realized he’d looked away, and found it ridiculously hard to lift his eyes to hers. “This where you decide to trust me…or you decide to walk away.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “I can take you where you need to go. I can help you open doors and break down walls. I can show you into the core of who you are, bring you face to face with what scares you, and out the other side…if you trust me.”

He wanted to say no, run away. He wanted to argue he had secrets he couldn’t trust to anyone, that he knew what he was afraid of, knew how to keep it locked up tight and secure…how to be in control.

Of course, control was only an illusion. One he clung to desperately.

She hadn’t touched him, except for the end of that crop, and he was sweating. He wanted to wipe his forehead, but couldn’t seem to make his hands move. Somehow he knew she wanted him to sweat, to feel this discomfort. “I—I’m not sure I can do this.” He didn’t like the way his voice trembled a little, the way she smirked when she heard it.

“The most telling thing about a person is what scares them.” She dropped the crop to her side. “Most people would probably say that not much scares you.”

“Everyone’s afraid of something.” This was easier, abstract. This he could do.

Except she wasn’t letting him off that easily. “Good. Tell me what frightens you.”

He blinked at her, licked his lips. Just like that. “I—“ He blew out slowly.

“Trust.” She said it firmly, sliding off the desk. “Close your eyes.” She walked around behind him. He could feel her, standing, demanding. “Breathe slowly.” She was there… _right there_ her lips almost touching his ear. “Don’t think so hard…tell me what frightens you.”

“This.” His voice was breathy and uncertain and he could almost feel her smile.

“It’s a start.” She moved away again, tapping the crop against her boot lightly. “Tell me what you want.”

He licked his lips. “To stop.” The words startled him. She stopped in her stride and glanced at him. He cleared his throat. “To stop hiding.” He blinked and she smiled.

“Very good.” She slid…slithered…into her desk chair. “But you’re still thinking too much.”

“It’s what I do.”

“I know.” She inhaled and looked him over. “This is a delicate dance. One that requires absolute honesty, with yourself, with me. We’ll set boundaries and work out to them, then reset them and work at them again…is that what you want?”

He closed his eyes. He wanted the freedom she offered…the release…but he wasn’t sure he could say that…even now, with it held out to him…no strings, no entanglements…one professional to another…like a counselor.

He could suddenly smell her perfume, feel her leaning over him, the ends of her hair brushing his arm like a thousand points of electricity. Her voice was sultry, dark and dangerous and delicious in his ear, the crop pressed harshly into his chin. “Answer me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” He whispered it, his whole being hovering in that moment. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open his eyes…could only hold on to the chair the way he held onto everything else.

She moved to his other ear. “I look forward to it.” She stood and he could hear her walking back to her desk. “I had a cancellation for tomorrow evening. Be here at 6. Bring a change of clothes, something comfortable…and consider a safe word.”

He blinked a few times, his hands suddenly releasing the death grip on the chair. “That’s it?

She looked up from where she had scribbled his name in her appointment book. “Did you expect more?”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he expected. He rubbed a hand over his face, and shook his head. He was still raw, oozing…but he had been for so long, he’d learned how to put it away. He inhaled deeply, adjusted his glasses and stood. “Tomorrow night then.”

She smiled, pretty and fierce all at once. He nodded. She stood and held out her hand. “Until tomorrow.” He started to shake it, then raised it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles, then blushing.

Tomorrow. It seemed so far away…so unattainable…and yet…so close he could feel it on his skin.


End file.
